The Ebon Blade Unbroken
by tmd126
Summary: The broken shore has that name for good reason. It was shattered by the arrival of the Legion... and upon it, the Alliance and horde also shattered. But, for now at least, the Ebon Blade, forged by shadow, but working towards the goals of the Light, stands in their place. I do not own Warcraft, nor do i intend to profit from this work.


**Hello everyone! first time back into the world of fanfiction in a LONG time. I know. but hey, I'm trying something new. These chapters are going to be a long time apart. I'm only writing for fun, when I want to. For perspective, I've been working on this chapter since September, here a little and there a little. But hey, I'm excited for legion, and really enjoyed the campaign that played out. Mind you, I'm not happy with everything in Legion, and my character will be going a little off the rails in parts... but for the most part I want this to be a psychological examination of the Deathlord of the Ebon Blade. It's mostly based on my own internal reactions and RP to the storyline. So don't expect major deviations from the plot. but expect everything to be a lot more looked into an analyzed than in the main game.**

Glissa looks over the scouting reports from all over draenor. The situation is the same everywhere, All's quiet. The demons and the Iron Horde are long routed, the forces of the Alliance victorious. The garrison in shadowmoon valley had been untouched for months now, quietly accumulating resources and food for those who now live here full time.

It was incredible the amount of power the forces of Azeroth had, and how much it had changed from the beginning. She had only heard stories of the first war, orcs sweeping in through the portal and across the humans lands, eventually, with the help of Garona Halforcen, another version of the assassin who now works here with her, they had toppled the kingdom of Stormwind, and sent the refugees fleeing northward, and creating the first alliance.

But she had her own stories of her people's encounters with them. The razing of Shattrath city, the assaults that left the Draenei stunned and defenseless, falling quite easily to the formerly peaceful horde and its warped warriors.

She had been born here. On draenor. The original one. She had run from her home as an orc chased when she was no more than a child. She had watched the world be torn apart as she hid in a swamp. And then she had fled with most of her people to the Exodar. Afterwards she fought her way through Outland as a Paladin of the light. She was not there when Illidan fell. Nor when the sunwell was reignited… But she was there when the scourge came. And she fell before them. The runeblade on her back grows cold at the thoughts of what happened next. A… Dark time.

It was not her fault. She knows this; But it's cold comfort to the memory of so many dead by her hand. The fall of Arthas. The Cataclysm. And the campaign on Pandaria… she had been a part of them all. Slowly she had overcome her shame and remorse at what she had become, growing to realize that even now, twisted and undead, she still could serve the light.

And so it was that she was chosen as commander for the assault on Draenor. Her old home… and she had worked to set right what had been wrong before. She had brought unholy justice to the orcs, and in a crowning achievement, had fought Archimonde himself in that last battle standing hoof to hoof against the Defiler, one of the two great traitors to her people, and she had lived, thanks to the healing prowess of her allies and her own mastery of life forces. And now… there seems to be peace.

All is calm in this reflection of her home. And she has grown to enjoy it again… some of the bonds upon her soul had loosened, so she no longer needed battle and pain to avoid the gnawing hunger that she had battled with since her rebirth. Sanctus upon her finger, and the long battle seeming to have been won for now, she has settled down.

One of the things she had done with it was to hunt down the version of herself that existed here, Just out of curiosity. She had visited the home of her parents in Shattrath. It… Had been years. Nearly a decade since she saw them alive. And so she wept upon finding them alive and well.

True joy was so rare… she did not actually talk to them. How could she, knowing what she is? No… Best to let them live their lives, unburdened by a daughter they never had.

She shakes her head to clear it of her reverie. There was a reason for reminiscing. It was nearly a year after the campaign began, after all. A year of being... home. A thing she'd never thought to have again. She was respected. Loved, even. It was nearly insane to believe. But there it was. And so, of course, fate had to intervene… a letter. From king Varian Wrynn. Her blood goes cold as she reads.

"Heroes of the Alliance, I write to you in Azeroth's darkest hour. From the maw of hell, the burning armies of the Legion have returned. Our fleets depart for the Broken Isles at once. As a grand lance, we will pierce the Legion's lines and drive them back to the nether that spawned them. Your ship awaits in the Stormwind Harbor, make haste."

No… damnit! Just as things were going right. The legion has hunted them across the universe. Her people had run so long… And here they are again.

She crumples up the letter and stands. "Thorn! I need a report of all our resources that can be diverted to Azeroth to fight the legion!"

"Yes ma'am" the Gilnean woman salutes and immediately goes over to where the reports are stashed. She seems shocked by the request, having to look over papers a few times before determining if they're needed, and moving hurriedly, but her professionalism takes over within moments.

In the meanwhile, Glissa continues moving out to the greater garrison. A quick shout at a guard gets him to run off and gather up her followers, those that still live in the garrison at least. They arrive and form rank in front of her, down the steps from the main hall.

"My friends… our worst fears have come to pass. The burning legion has returned in force to Azeroth." there are gasps of horror. "in an hour, I will take as many of you as wish to go with me to Stormwind. Gather the belongings you wish to take, say your prayers, and steel your hearts. This will not be easy. But I have faith in all of you. We will not fail if we stand together! For Azeroth and the light!"

she raises a fist and the forces arrayed before her salute and cheer, before dispersing hurriedly to do as she has said. She descends, and calls to one in particular. "Taylor!" the ghostly figure pauses.

"Yes?" he asks.

"I need someone here. Someone with command experience and someone the men trust." he nods.

"And that leaves me. I understand, commander. To be honest, I doubt I could even return home if I tried. I'll be glad to lead until you come back to us."

"Thank you, Taylor." Glissa nods. He salutes, and walks off.

And one hour later, mages pull open wide portals to the human capital city. She steps through, now in full armor. The sky is grey, and the docks are filled with soldiers of all races. All of them are in gleaming armor and stormwind tabards. A somber, but confident atmosphere suffuses the place, everything orderly as soldiers wait to be loaded onto ships, and transported out to the battlefield. Anticipation, like a cold hand around her heart, seems to constrict her.

Dark power seeps in from her armor, which is unnaturally chill, to the point of frost falling from it towards the earth, and her runeblade pulses softly on her back, readying itself for the coming slaughter.

The preparations on the dock are concise, but needed. Holy crystals from the Exodar bless the weapons of her soldiers, and even her own, the light flickering in unwilling cooperation with the vampiric runes scrawled on its surface, semi-magical armorsmithing ensures their protective gear is top-notch, and a feast is held in honor of those about to depart.

Some light sparring loosens up nerves, and before they know it, they're travelling towards the broken isles, former heart of Kalimdor. Mages facilitate the instant communication between ships, and a battle plan takes shape, albeit a rudimentary one.

The forces of the alliance had lost contact with Varian Wrynn and the advance guard, and the worst had to be assumed. The first and most important mission was to drive the legion out of their foothold before they gained ground, and destroy whatever was allowing them to enter the world. Secondary objectives include finding the king, and their forces.

The closer they get to their destination, the more tense all of them become. The burning legion… they had been faced before. For the Draenei, on too many worlds to name, and for the races of Azeroth and draenor, there had been too many lives lost for them to be comfortable going to fight them.

Then. On the horizon, a green glow breaks the endless ocean of blue on blue. Suddenly, everyone is on deck, ready to fight as the beacon of fel energy grows closer and closer.

"Battle positions! I don't know if we've been spotted yet but we will be! Prepare for waves of felbats and infernals! Priests! I want a barrier around this whole ship if you can manage it! Hunters! Mages! Keep the skies clear as long as you can! I'll keep the attention of any that get through! The rest of you cover me!" Glissa calls out to her men, who immediately comply. On cue, waves of shadowy creatures spill from the clouds above, and come pelting down at the fleet, where they are met with shields of light, volleys of arrows, blizzards and fireballs.

An infernal makes its way through the shielding and threatens to crash into the deck below, possibly fracturing the ship. So Glissa reaches out with her magic and wraps the flaming ball in tendrils of deathly energy, dragging it right to her position and arresting its momentum, similarly to how a mage who finds themselves falling can use a teleportation spell to survive without injury, this caused the flaming ball to touch down without harm to the structure of the ship itself. It does unfurl into the demonic form, of course.

The massive creature glares down at her, and makes a swing with an arm right for her face, the heat scorching her even before the impact. To an ordinary mortal, such a blow would likely have killed them outright, sending them flying, armor crushed and bones turned to meal, and even through the deadening of undeath it hurts.

But one swing of her runeblade later the pain fades, and her battle with it continues. Only now, however, does it occur to her that the ship is still wooden, and despite her maneuver stopping it from punching a hole through, it was still going to burn the ship unless something was done.

Fortunately, a mage was already on it, blasting the infernal with ice, as his water elemental puts out the flames around the creature. the frost is enough to crack the stone of the creature, and its life force spills out, headed back for the nether.

"I don't think so…" Glissa murmurs, and she waves her runeblade through the air, absorbing the creature's soul into it.

"Ma'am! Land just up ahead! Its Jaina Proudmoore and Genn Greymane!"

Sure enough. A beachhead has been established and leading the assault was the worgen man and the human mage, surrounded first by a ring of Gilnean soldiers and Kirin tor, and then by a larger group of demons…

"Make landfall! Men! Lets help them out!" she calls out, and her troops cheer the affirmative. The planks are lowered and the forces spill out, reinforcing the two great leaders.

"Glad you could make it." Jaina nods.

"Me too" Glissa replies simply, focusing more on the task ahead than anything else. The demons roar and attack upon seeing the reinforcements, and she steps forward to meet them.

The battle is quick, and bloody. Demons fall before them, and Glissa doesn't even get hit, masterfully parrying most attacks, and her armor, and shield of summoned bones taking care of the rest. When they're gone, they also dismantle the demonic buildings nearby, destroying the green crystals which anchor them to reality.

From up the shore comes a massive pit lord, the four legged draconic demons with vestigial wings and humongous strength. the ground shakes at his approach. And he shouts out "You wish to face the might of the Legion? Ha, very well. The master will reward me for your souls." this appears to be a commander. Glissa steps forwards, runeblade pointed at the demon.

"I'm afraid you'll have to get in line for that one. If you can manage to kill me, of course." she smirks a little.

"Bah! Your pointless arrogance will speed your downfall! Infernals! Blast these mortals to ash!"

More of the burning rocks are launched, leaving deep holes in the fel tainted soil. Frost mages divert and begin icing over the demons before they can rise as the majority of the guard keeps attacking the pit lord.

Glissa bears the brunt of his assault, the creature slamming down his pike again and again, and Glissa parrying, blocking, or simply taking each hit. The irony is that the priests healing her end causing more pain than the demon. The light sears as it cauterizes her body. She grits her teeth and maintains. The demon slowly topples to the ground.

"You have not won… You cannot win… We are legion... " he wheezes out one last threat.

Sadly, this demon is too powerful for her runeblade to consume, so she settles for drastically increasing the time it takes before he will come back. In the meantime the army keeps pressing forwards under the command of Jaina and Genn. Ahead… The true invasion of the legion would be seen… With luck, Varian, and their world, may yet be saved.


End file.
